The Death of Shigehira

The Uchiha Clan man holding the child was in a complete panic.

Kagami Uchiha was a quiet child who rarely cried except on the day he was born.

That's why he dared to bring the child along. After all, his wife died in childbirth, and there was no one at home to take care of the child. Besides, it wasn't a dangerous mission, so he naturally wanted to bring the child along.

But why did the child suddenly start crying?

Was it because the stage play was too tragic? Or because the sound of the Biwa was too intense?

He stood on the deserted rooftop, trying to soothe his son, looking somewhat worried.

Sigh, please calm down, my darling, or Daddy will get scolded.

And at this very moment.

The air backstage seemed to freeze.

Uchiha Hinata, who played Atsumori, had just successfully made his exit by "disappearing" from the shallow sea at a carefully designed angle under the cover of Genjutsu and Water Release.

Uchiha Izuna Shadow Clone walked over with a gentle smile on his face, ready to congratulate him on finishing filming.

Hinata this scene was extremely deep, and his final act of dying was truly shocking. Given the previous incident with Yūki, Izuna felt it was necessary to come and see the child's condition in person.

The Shadow Clone raised its hand, about to pat Hinata's shoulder.

Just then, Hinata deactivated the Transformation Technique that had been maintaining Atsumori's adult appearance.

His still slender figure, befitting a thirteen-year-old boy, was evident, making the costume appear somewhat oversized.

He kept his head down, seemingly still immersed in the role, his shoulders trembling slightly.

Izuna's Shadow Clone paused, patiently waiting for him to calm down.

Hinata slowly raised his head.

Those bright, cunning black eyes, which always carried a hint of a smile and a hint of calculation, were now a shocking crimson.

Izuna stood frozen in place, his eyes now clearly reflecting the ominous, slowly shifting crimson light in Hinata's eyes.

One-Tomoe Sharingan.

Although it is only the most basic form, it is indeed a symbol of the Uchiha Clan's Kekkei Genkai.

The Shadow Clone Izuna looked surprised.

The Uchiha clan members who were busy packing up props or preparing for the next scene all stopped moving as if they had been collectively frozen in place, their eyes fixed on Hinata's face, their eyes filled with disbelief.

"Dig... dig a trench?!"

"Hinata... has his eyes been opened?!"

"Really? Because it's acting?!"

"Although... what Guo Sheng said just now was quite... but this is acting! How can this be considered eye-opening?!"

Shocked, bewildered, and incredulous whispers quickly spread backstage.

The conditions for Sharingan the Sharingan in the Uchiha Clan are not a secret within the clan.

It usually requires experiencing extreme emotional shock, especially emotional experiences involving life and death, loss, or immense pain.

On the battlefield, during missions, it is common to witness the death of loved ones or to be on the verge of death oneself.

But it was through immersing oneself in theatrical performances, and through the tragic fate of a fictional character, that one's eyes were opened...

This is unheard of!

Hinata seemed completely oblivious to the commotion around him and the shocked eyes that filled his vision.

His usual smiling expression vanished, replaced by a blank look. He blinked slowly, as if utterly exhausted.

He ignored Izuna and looked at any of his clansmen.

His gaze swept past the crowd and landed on the stretcher in the corner.

There, Hinata Rei lay quietly.

Transformation Technique was reversed, she returned to the figure of a ten-year-old girl, appearing even more petite.

His right calf was carefully secured with a wooden board and bandages by medical-nin, and his face was still pale from blood loss, but his pure Byakugan held a calm and gentle expression.

Yamanaka Harukawa stood beside her, his eyes still red and swollen, clearly having just cried.

When they saw Hinata approaching, his Sharingan still wide open, both of them were stunned.

"Hinata, you..." Harukawa's voice was a little hoarse, filled with doubt and worry.

Lian's gaze lingered on Hinata Xiang's eyes for a moment.

She was younger than Hinata, but almost the instant she saw those eyes, she understood.

Everything on stage is fake, but the emotions invested are real.

Atsumori, played Hinata Shinrei, lost Kiyotsune, and ultimately met his destined death.

When the curtain fell, he transformed from Guo Sheng back into Uchiha Hinata, looking at Rei lying on a stretcher in reality, genuinely injured from acting, and at Harukawa beside him, his eyes red from crying over "Kiyotsune's death".

The sting of loss and the relief that it was just acting intertwined, mixed with the despair and grief he was immersed in while playing the role. Like a flood that had been suppressed to its limit and finally found an outlet, it broke through the dam of his reason and unexpectedly knocked open the shackles of his bloodline.

Lian looked at him and suddenly smiled softly.

The smile was faint, yet it carried a tolerance and understanding that transcended age.

She didn't speak, but simply reached out her hand towards the Hinata.

Hinata stopped in his tracks.

He gazed at the small, soft hand reaching out to him.

Then, he walked over, knelt on one knee beside the stretcher, and carefully took her hand.

Immediately afterwards, Rei used her other hand to grab the hand of the still somewhat dazed Harukawa, and held it tightly.

She looked at Hinata's still bloodshot eyes, then at Harukawa's swollen eyes, and said firmly.

"We will live on."

"Absolute."

These words, like the last straw, broke the calm that Hinata been forcibly maintaining.

He could no longer control himself, and suddenly lowered his head, pressing his forehead against Lian's hand, his shoulders trembling uncontrollably.

He made a vow in his heart.

Lian, Harukawa...

Although we have different surnames and different ethnicities...

But you are the people I, Uchiha Hinata, will protect with my life.

Absolutely... I absolutely do not want to experience what happened on stage.

You must live, live well.

And I...

I will never... become like Guo Sheng, who could only watch helplessly as everything unfolded and ultimately died alone.

Even if I have to die, I will die before you.

The backstage commotion seemed to have faded away.

In the corner, three small figures, whose combined age might not even equal the duration of a single mission for some Ninjas, clasped hands, conveying a sense of relief and a silent promise.

Taira no Shigehira was captured, but he did not die.

He was used as a messenger by Retired Emperor Go-Shirakawa, and a secret letter was sent through a woman in Kyoto who had always admired Shigehira's beauty and talent.

The letter was short, containing only a few words.

If the Taira were willing to return the Three Sacred Treasures, they might be able to save Shigehira's life.

This condition itself is like a cruel joke.

The members of the Taira Clan Main Family, whose morale had plummeted after the Ichi-no-Tani Defeat, gathered inside the residence.

The dim lighting illuminated the ashen, angry, or desperate expressions on everyone's faces.

"Shigehira..." Tokiko Shizi's hand holding the secret letter trembled violently, and tears silently streamed down her face.

That was one of her sons whom she loved most dearly.

She saw the gloom in his eyes and his self-imposed exile after the fire in Southern Capital. Now, he has fallen into enemy hands.

Tomomori slammed his fist on the floor, his eyes bloodshot, his voice hoarse. "Damn it! This is a threat! A blatant threat!"

Munemori paced back and forth in frustration, muttering to himself, "The Three Sacred Treasures... How can we hand over the Three Sacred Treasures? They belong to the Taira, to His Emperor Antoku's last reliance! But Shigehira..."

Sukemori stood in the corner, his face ashen, his fists clenched so tightly they cracked.

He had just learned of Atsumori's Death at Ichi-no-Tani, and his chest felt as if it were burning with fire, yet also as if it were filled with ice.

Hearing news of Uncle Shigehira at this moment, he was even more distraught.

He went to Koremori's residence and relayed these things to Koremori, who was already listless at home, doing nothing and unable to do anything but lie around all day.

Koremori kept his head down, seemingly oblivious to the arguments and indignation around him.

Until Sukemori finished speaking the last word.

He slowly, very slowly, raised his head.

His face was an almost transparent pale white, his eyes were filled with spiderweb-like red veins, and there was a deep dark blue under his eyes.

The days of fleeing, defeats, and the loss of loved ones had already ravaged him, leaving him emaciated.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but no sound came out.

Only tears, without warning, rolled down his empty eyes.

At first, it was silent; it simply slid down her cheeks, dripping onto her clothes and leaving dark stains.

Then, his shoulders began to tremble uncontrollably.

He suddenly raised his hands, covered his face, curled up, and burst into a hoarse and desperate cry that he could no longer control after suppressing his emotions to the extreme.

"Uncle Shigehira... even Uncle Shigehira..." He sobbed incoherently, his voice broken and fragmented, yet every word was stained with blood, "Kiyotsune... Shinrei... Atsumori... and... and..."

He let go, his eyes blurred with tears as he gazed into the void, as if countless departed faces were staring at him.

"I'm bound to fall... fall into the Avīci Hell..." His voice was as soft as a sigh, "It's all over... the Taira is finished... Kiyotsune... thought that's what he thought too... when I jumped... there was also Shinrei... she..."

"Why... does everyone...?"

He didn't say anything more, but buried his face in his hands again, his shoulders heaving violently.

Shintarō, his body wrapped in bandages, stood silently beside him.

One by one, the people around me left.

In various ways—tragic, resolute, and helpless—they disappeared from his world.

The nightmare of Fujikawa, the Kurikara Valley, the explosion of Hakozaki Ford, the fall of Ichi-no-Tani, news from Kyoto...

These images flashed across the Genjutsu background one by one.

He tried to pull himself together; a flame had even burned in his eyes before the Kurikara Valley.

But that flame was easily extinguished by Minamoto no Yoshinaka's ingenious plan and the collapse of his 100,000-strong army.

He tried to take responsibility, but each effort only resulted in deeper failures and more painful losses.

Now, even Uncle Shigehira, who stood tall like a pine tree, who endured fire and inner torment but never truly bent, has fallen.

Where can the Taira's crumbling ship possibly sail?

Shigehira appeared on stage.

His hands were tied behind his back, and his red casual clothes were covered in dust and dark stains, with some parts torn, revealing the white shirt underneath, making him look quite disheveled.

Her once fiery red hair had lost its luster and was now disheveled and draped over her shoulders.

Even so, when he was pushed to his knees in the center of the hall by two Minamoto Warriors, his back remained straight, like a pine tree that never bends in the wind and snow.

Minamoto no Yoritomo sat upright in the main seat, his posture seemingly relaxed, but his eyes scrutinized the prisoners below him like those of a hawk.

Hōjō Masako stood quietly to his side, a little behind.

A Samurai stepped forward and reported, "Sir, this is Taira no Shigehira Taira."

Minamoto no Yoritomo's gaze lingered on Shigehira for a moment, as if he were assessing something.

He began, "I've heard... that the great fire in Nara, the Southern Capital Nara, was your doing?"

Shigehira slowly raised his head.

Even with the dirt on his face, his features were still clearly defined, with bright eyes and brows. He looked somewhat pale now because of the days of imprisonment and inner torment.

When he raised his eyes and looked directly at Minamoto no Yoritomo, there was no trace of the cowardice or pleading of a prisoner, only a calm composure.

Minamoto no Yoritomo felt a slight stirring in his heart when he saw that look, and unconsciously straightened his back a little.

Shigehira replied, "The battle raged late into the night, the sky was as dark as ink, and it was difficult to distinguish friend from foe. In order to illuminate the battlefield, we had no choice but to light a fire... which inadvertently caused it to spread."

"Since I was the commander-in-chief at the time, then it is my fault. Arson of the temple is a grave and indisputable crime."

"Now that they have been captured and are barely clinging to life, suffering this humiliation of clinging to life... it seems to be Karma, and it is only natural."

He closed his eyes, then opened them again, his gaze fixed on the void, as if he could see the raging flames soaring into the sky. "Fighting in the south and north, conquering in the east and west, countless souls have perished under my blade... All for the sake of the survival of the Taira and my own survival. Perhaps this predicament is the retribution for the slaughter of the past."

This frank confession, without arguing or begging for forgiveness, carried a repentant calm that plunged the entire hall into an eerie silence.

Minamoto no Yoritomo no Yoritomo stared at him, remaining silent for a long time.

He had seen many defeated generals, some weeping and begging for their lives, some cursing and offering their necks for execution, and some ashen-faced and numb, awaiting death.

However, it is rare to see someone like Shigehira who so clearly bears the responsibility and consequences of his crimes, and who states them in a way that is almost self-analytical, neither concealing his evil deeds nor losing his integrity.

That night, the moonlight was cold and clear.

Minamoto no Yoritomo sat alone in the courtyard, with sake vessels laid out before him, but he had no desire to drink much.

Hōjō Masako quietly approached him and asked softly, "Is something troubling you, sir?"

Minamoto no Yoritomo's gaze fell upon a peony quietly blooming in the moonlight in the courtyard.

The Peony deep red, with layers upon layers of petals, exuding elegance and nobility; even in the darkness of night, its beauty was undeniable.

"Peony," he said softly.

Masako followed his gaze and understood. "Are you referring to... Lord Shigehira?"

"Hmm." Minamoto no Yoritomo picked up his wine cup, took a small sip, the wine was spicy, but it couldn't dispel the inexplicable knot in his chest.

Masako said softly, "I've long heard of him, and meeting him today... he truly lives up to my name."

Masako remained silent for a moment; she knew her husband all too well. Behind this admiration and sentimentality lurked a dangerous pity. She had to point out the pros and cons before he made a decision.

"My lord," her voice remained gentle, yet extremely resolute, "You wouldn't... intend to spare his life, would you?"

Minamoto no Yoritomo paused slightly in his hand holding the sake glass, but did not immediately deny it.

Masako continued, lowering her voice even further. "It was precisely because of Lord Kiyomori's act of mercy back then, sparing your life, that the Lord Kiyomori has the opportunity to Minamoto again today. This is something you often say, sir."

"But now, Your Excellency is determined to destroy the Taira and bring peace to the world. This is a great undertaking that cannot be shaken. If, at this moment, you were to show mercy and spare Shigehira, or even... spare the Taira Clan bloodline..."

She paused for a moment, letting Minamoto no Yoritomo savor the rest of her words.

Minamoto no Yoritomo slowly set down his sake cup, shifting his gaze from the Peony to the deeper night sky, his voice low and menacing. "One day... someone will destroy my Minamoto, setting a precedent, won't they?"

"This noble flower, growing in the Capital City and bathed in the blessings of the Emperor," Masako's voice, like cold pearls, struck Minamoto no Yoritomo's heart, "... even if transplanted, its roots remain in its old soil. Inevitably, some will remember its former glory, pity its current decline, and thus... gather around it, harboring inappropriate thoughts. This is a hidden danger to Your Excellency's great cause and to the future of the Minamoto."

Minamoto no Yoritomo closed his eyes.

A long time.

He opened his eyes, the last trace of emotion in them had subsided, leaving only the decisiveness and coldness of a ruthless leader.

"You're right, Masako."

He picked up the wine jug, refilled his cup, and drank it all in one gulp.

"This flower... no matter how beautiful, shouldn't be kept."

On the day of the execution, the sky was overcast.

Shigehira was escorted to the execution ground.

He was dressed in white, his hair was simply tied up, and his face was clean with little expression.

Along the way, the onlookers whispered among themselves. Some cursed, some sighed, and some silently lowered their heads.

Shigehira his eyes straight ahead and walked steadily, as if he were not heading towards death, but rather to an ordinary gathering.

Only when he was pressed before the execution platform did he slightly raise his head and glance at the gray sky.

There was no fear, no resentment.

Only a sense of relief remained.

He remembered the flute music under the moon in Fukuhara, the towering Kakkō of Southern Capital, his elder brother Tomomori's strong hand, his mother Tokiko 'Tokiko tearful eyes, and his nephew Kiyotsune, who always had a cheerful smile but was now no longer alive...

He had seen it all: glory, slaughter, guilt, struggle, protection, loss.

This life has come to an end.

That's fine.

He slowly closed his eyes.

The executioner raised his knife.

The stage suddenly went dark.

Only a heavy, heart-stopping thud remained, as if striking the hearts of all the audience members.